The Sky Maiden
by Queen of the Sidhe
Summary: When the blacksmith's son and the daughter of a lord set out to rescue the princess from a dragon, neither are aware what they are getting themselves into. For they didn't expect the dragon and princess to act this way at all... {Medieval Fantasy AU. Pairings : Rowen, Cappy, some Chelia x Romeo, Mest x Wendy. With a little Frosch/Lecter/Carla on the side}


**A/N :: This is a medieval fantasy Fairy Tail AU story. Yes, I can hear the groans, but I promise that this will not be ****cliché like all the others like this. **

:: Chapter One ::

Charle was in heaven. The soft touch of the wind against her face was bliss, bringing with it the faint scent of cherry blossoms. Her lips twitched up in a peaceful half smile as she closed her eyes, feeling the sharp frost of the dawn brush her cheeks. Reality, and the dead fish sitting on her crumpled bed sheets, faded into the background as the swirling breeze tugged on her hair, pulling it free of the curling rags tied in the night before. Birds twittered, the sound echoing in her ears. It was a really pretty morning, she reflected. So perfect, in fact, that she could almost ignore the stink in her bedroom or the clanging from the kitchens in the guts of the palace.

Her eyes snapped wide, realizing, and she sprang away from the open window with the grace of a shocked duck. Tiredness crept in on the edges of her vision and she felt her eyelids grow slightly sore. The tiles beneath her bare feet were cold and she shivered in her flimsy nightclothes.

The gilded mirror beside her dresser made itself known and she shuffled over to stand in front of it, shifting her feet so that they wouldn't freeze to the marble floor. Her reflection stared back at her from its prison of glass and she felt a headache creeping in. Charle was, by no stretch of the imagination, a morning person and her reflection obviously screamed that fact. Her wavy, white hair was tangled, limp, and dull, falling around her skinny shoulders like a lazy waterfall. The usually round face seemed narrow without her makeup and the indigo bags under her large eyes gave her a diseased appearance. The thin, dark pink, lacy nightdress hugged her form tightly, outlining her scrawny body with painful obviousness.

Charle spun away quickly; her before breakfast self was an eyesore to look at and she didn't need to make her headache bigger with worrying. Sighing dramatically, she flung herself backwards onto her plush covers, aiming to miss the rotting mackerel that her latest suitor had oh-so-kindly brought her. Normal boys brought flowers, but was she that lucky? Oh, no, she gets the fish-offerer! At thirteen, going on fourteen, she supposed that she was pushing her luck. Most high class girls were married by now and expecting, and her mother was at the end of what to do with her. Charle had rejected every noble suitor yet, and she intended to continue that uncaring charade.

The preteen girl was interrupted in her marriage musings by a purposeful rap on the the oaken double doors. The golden winged cat door-handle twisted slightly. Charle immediately shot up and skidded up against her heap of lush pillows, using her bony heels to propel herself across the bed. Running her slender fingers through her ratty hair, she tried to make her expression more presentable for a princess.

"Come in!" Charle called, hating how her voice was hoarse in the morning.

The dark wood doors creaked open and a voice called out, "Are you decent, Your Highness?"

She rolled her eyes, full aware of who it was and cursing fate for it. "Lecter, why in the name of the almighty heavens would I be allowing you in if I wasn't decent?" Her tone had a biting air to it and the advisor visibly flinched. He stepped into the room, tripped on his overlong grey councillor's robes, and pitched forward, grabbing the gold bedpost for support. Lecter, red-brown hair flopping over one eye, flashed her a charming grin, one that was countered by Charle's icy scowl.

"You're looking marvellous tis' morning, Princess," he mumbled, his cajoling tone of voice fading in the face of Charle's grim expression.

The princess folded her hands in her lap with a stiff air as she gazed at her childhood friend with zero emotion in her eyes. Lecter swallowed hard, trying to quench the fearful chill in his blood; even after years of being nearly inseparable, he had still not grown used to her angry glares.

"Spit it out." She ordered, managing to appear regal with a bad case of bed hair. "You avoid me unless it's for important business, so what is it?"

The young advisor glanced around the shining room, searching for a possible escape route lest things turn ugly. "Well, um, I thought that, uh, since we don't ever, y'know, hang out anymore—" he began pathetically, only to freeze at Charle's penetrating glare. How is she more intimidating than the castle guards? The former waved her hand, a slight gesture indicating for him to continue, this time seriously.

Lecter coughed officially into his clenched fist before starting over. "Her Majesty Queen Chagot requests the presence of her daughter, Her Royal Highness Princess Charle, in the throne room. It's urgent." He added, panting after that speedy mouthful. Charle didn't notice, however, as her eyes had widened in shock, an emotion that she usually never let outsiders witness. Lecter, naturally, stared at her for as long as he could; it wasn't every day the Princess of Extalia showed weakness and he wasn't skipping his chance to enjoy it. His personality leaped again, this time becoming troublesome with a telltale smirk. "Maybe you're in trouble..."


End file.
